


Aftercare

by ProngsAndPens



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All the members of the Mighty Nein love each other, Beau is injured and Yasha takes care of her, F/F, Fluff, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, feat Caleb "Wingman" Widogast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProngsAndPens/pseuds/ProngsAndPens
Summary: Beau has been training and comes back to the inn late at night, beaten and bruised. Luckily, Yasha knows a little bit about aftercare.





	1. Many Things To Hate, Precious Things To Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuspEgg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuspEgg/gifts).



> My first CR fanfic, a bit of fluff for our beloved lesbians! Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau's side of the story.

There were a thousand things that Beauregard disliked about Zadash.

  
The people, the weather, the blatant sneer that anyone who felt above the rest would bear looking down on everyone else, the snobs at the Tri-Spire, the Law in general, and so many things between and beyond. The list was long, and she’d be happy to start reciting it to any of the Mighty Nein, should booze be provided. However, amongst the many members of the Cobalt Soul that she definitely couldn’t stomach, there was one that she was more than willing to spend time with, even though she’d never admit it. Dairon, at least, she could agree with. She was to the point, capable, and shared Beau’s distrust of influent orders and the like. Training with Dairon was anything but gentle, but there was always something new to learn that Beau walked – well, limped – back with from each training session. The soreness of the next morning was hardly enjoyable, this much was true, but she finally felt like she was actually making progress, which wasn’t really the case when she was studying under Zeenoth with all the other monks in training.

  
Stumbling back to the Pillow Trove late at night, with bumps and bruises and, most likely, a few cracked ribs, Beau looked like she’d found herself in one of the worst streets of the Outersteads. She should feel cheery, like she did whenever she trained and Dairon granted her a rare compliment, but the pouring rain and cold wind were not helping. Sure, the water was sort of helping wash the blood off her face, knuckles, and front of her robes, but, combined with the chill wind, it made her muscles tense up and augmented the amount of pain she was in.

  
Yeah, there were a lot of things Beauregard had against Zadash. Like the way the people went to the other side of the streets as soon as they saw the – now fading – blood over the teal cloth, or large dark bruise over her right cheekbone. The way the soldiers did a double take, hand on their sword, before either realising that she was one of the Mighty Nein, or mabe simply deciding that she wasn’t worth their time.

 

Beau caught herself being eager to be back at the tavern, with the people she’d been travelling with, risking her life in the process, yet somehow apparently accepted. Sure, they’d comment on the bruises, but they’d leave it alone. Caleb would avoid her gaze but pass her a cloth dipped in ice-cold water or warmed above a fire, as well as Frumpkin’s soothing presence. Nott would maybe say something but maintain a respecting distance and quietly care. Jester would offer some healing and do her best to make her laugh. Mollymauk would definitely be himself and annoying, yet there was no hiding that, when the chips were down, he’d take a hit for her if it kept her alive. And Yasha, well. Yasha would quietly care. Stand a bit closer. Tell her in broken, hesitant sentences, some things about Xhorhas when no one else is listening.

 

* * *

 

 

The pouring rain worsened as thunder crashed, eventually completely drenching her, blue now entirely exempt of crimson. Beau started walking faster, hoping to get to the tavern fast. It was really starting to wear down on her nerves, no matter how some members of her group seemed to enjoy it. She finally got there, shivering, ignoring the half-asleep dragonborn tavern keep to immediately stomp upstairs, pushing open the door to the room she shared with Jester and Yasha with her good shoulder. As expected, the young tiefling was fast asleep, softly snoring on one of the two beds. The other, however, remained empty. As Beau’s eyes scanned the room, left hand automatically reaching behind her to grab the quarterstaff, she finally spotted the tall barbarian. She’d grabbed Beau’s bedroll, a thin mattress that she’d lay on the floor, and laid it in front of the tall window of their room.

 

* * *

 

  
Caleb had originally gotten this one for himself and Nott, but he mumbled that Nott didn’t need a whole bed to herself and asked to swap it with theirs. Jester was happy to immediately oblige without asking questions, but the monk understood. Caleb was good at noticing things, even if he was bad at voicing them, and Yasha’s fascination for thunderstorms as well as her faith didn’t escape him. He'd always shown some sort of clumsy kindndess, to anyone who gave him a true chance, and Beau thanked him in the little ways she could find: books, protection, compassion, understanding. It was all very alien to her, but luckily Caleb didn’t need nor knew how to deal with much of it, so she could handle it and still save face.

  
Yasha was sitting on Beau’s “bed”, awake, staring out into the curtain of rain obscuring even the nearest buildings. The flashes of lightning made her pale skin stand out in stark contrast to the night sky, but she never startled. Beau quietly closed the door, unmoving, staring at the dark hair and the fur shawl over the simple linen clothing. The rhythmic tapping of the water and the deep deflagrations beating out a hypnotic rhythm that Beau didn’t understand, but that Yasha seemed to know by heart, like an ancient melody only she - and maybe Caleb, seeing that they shared a language, knew the words to.

  
“You’re hurt.”

The words were simple, a statement rather than a question. Beau had heard them before, but she was always taken aback by how soft the barbarian’s voice was. Like a delicate song, rather than the brute strength she would wield a greatsword or vanquish enemies with. It took her a few seconds to find her own words again, unsure of how to respond and how to react. She shrugged, almost flinching at the pain, before deciding to keep her regular attitude.

  
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, I’ll be fine.”  
“You should take better care of yourself, Beauregard.”  
“I was training, that’s all. Besides, if I get hurt here, at least I won’t when we’re out there, right?”

With one last look at the flood outside, Yasha got up. Walking quietly to the corner of the room, she opened the dresser, and an orange light lit up her features for an instant. Beau recognised it easily. Caleb had recently figured out how to make these small eternal flames, and had put one in a special jar in case of emergency. Kept with the lid on, it would function as an inextinguishable source of low light, but with the lid off it could actually heat up some small amount of water. Which could be handy, every now and then.

  
Yasha, still silent, walked towards Beau, a steaming scrap of cloth in her hand and one that wasn't in the other. When she reached the monk, she moved the shoulder of her tunic to the side and applied the warm pad to her neck and the cold one to her wounded limb. The warmth and immediate relief that spread through her thanks to the cold reminded Beau of the state of her drenched clothing, and she took a step back to get changed into dry robes. Once she was done, Yasha was behind her again and applying both, ensuring that the swelling would be small and that she might not catch a cold from just one night outside. She finally started relaxing under the care. The aasimar seemed extremely focused in her movements, as if she could maybe break Beau should she be too rough (which was probably true).

  
The silence was comfortable, the group had gotten used to the taciturn nature of their more enigmatic members, and Yasha used another cloth, cold this time, to finish getting the blood off the visible parts of Beau’s body. Leaving the warmer cloth on her shoulder, she took particular care off her hands, softly brushing over the knuckles and not truly letting go once she was done.

 

* * *

 

  
Unbeknownst to each other, they’d started leaning towards one another, the night and rain pulling them forwards, until their foreheads slowly joined. With closed eyes, Beau sighed, and Yasha’s hand found her forearm.

  
“You’re freezing.”

 

Again, that same softness. Beau simply had a small nod, the warmth of Yasha’s palm as much a balm as the warm cloth she’d kept ready thanks to Caleb’s flame.

 

“Come on, I can’t let you sleep on the ground tonight, Jester wouldn’t let you hear the end of it if you caught a cold.”

  
Beau chucked softly at Yasha’s reason but heard the hidden ones beneath the quip. _I don’t want you to be unwell, I want to keep you warm and comfortable, I want to help you heal…_

 

And, really, Beau was in no mind to protest.

 

She let herself be led to the comfortable bed, curling up comfortably in the warm spot between the taller woman’s arms, the rain soon fading into the background as it lulled them both to sleep.


	2. Many Drops Of Rain, Precious Reasons To Watch It Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha's side of the story

A rainstorm was coming. She could feel it. The air hung heavy in the late evening, moisture gathering on the tall window of the darkened room. In the other bed, Jester snored softly, clutching her journal and pencil to her chest, her symbol of the traveller peeking out from the bunched, messy covers. She’d fallen asleep without truly getting into bed, and thus lay in the clothes she wore that day, in the middle of finishing up a drawing, slouched over her notebook.

 

Yasha got closer, with a softness unexpected of her stature, and looked at the sleeping tiefling. This wouldn't do for a good night's rest.  


 

Peeling back her arms, she gently lifted the book, unable to hold back a small smile at Jester’s drawings for the day: a caricature-like sketch of her with lightning running across dark wings, a familiar orage cat, much bigger as well, licking her face while perched on her shoulders. Next, a figure almost impossible to notice but that she assumed to be Caleb, buried under a mountain of paper and ink. A little ways belox, Nott was doing a handstand on Molly’s horns, her mask falling on her eyes while the purple tiefling under her wore nothing but his tapestry. The piece of cloth had a crossed-out rough symbol of Bahamut and the words "The Traveller was here” written over it. In the next page came a drawing of Fjord in a pickles jar held by Jester herself, and lastly a drawing of Beau balanced on a branch, holding throwing stars shaped like donuts. At the bottom of the two pages, crossing over the centre of the book, “The Mighty Nein” was written in big letters, each with some hint of a member’s specialty.

 

Yasha’s smile grew and she gently closed the book, keeping the pencil close to it and laying it on the bedside table close to Jester. Next, she managed to slip off the girl’s cloak and bag, putting them aside, then deciding against taking her holy symbol off, leaving it on her belt. She gathered the pillows and bedsheets, tucking the tiefling in, before looking around the room with a small sigh.

 

 

They’d travelled for a while, solving problems left and right, and had gone back to Zadash for now to collect rewards, replenish supplies, and get a couple nights in comfortable quarters. Caleb originally had taken this room with Nott, having gone ahead of them because he needed some quiet time to write spells down and read in peace, and they joined him later in the day. When the rest of the party had arrived, however, he’d promptly taken Yasha’s room key and given his in exchange, muttering an explanation that Yasha doubted to be true, before heading back upstairs to his newly-acquired room. The last few adventures had taken a lot out of him and he needed rest, anyways, but the dark-haired woman knew that that was his way of looking out for his own, and that it didn't go unappreciated. Beau was probably the one reaching out the most, even though the two tended to clash. Should Caleb find himself in trouble, she'd step in front of him in a heartbeat, and she looked out for him in little ways. Recently, she'd managed to steal a book he was really interested in, and slipped it in his bag while no one else was looking. Well, no one else she thought was looking, but Yasha was, although she said nothing, understanding the need to keep it a secret.  


 

* * *

 

 

When she entered the room earlier, the view nearly took her breath away.

 

A long, open part of the city was displayed through the glass, stretching out towards the walls and the fields beyond it, then losing itself in the horizon. In the distance, she could see the oncoming dark clouds of a preparing storm.

 

She wondered for a moment about the wizard. He was quiet and suspicious of anyone he met, to the point that it could be a threat to the group and could greatly slow them down, but beyond that was an awkward kindness that didn’t go completely unnoticed, especially both Beauregard and Yasha's friend from the circus. Mollymauk was many things, but he was an amazing people-reader above most, and even though he could be cutting in his words he definitely saw through Caleb’s clumsiness, getting a hard-to-see glimpse at the man he could be should he be freed from his own pain and uncertainty.

 

Opening her bag, she took out the small ever-flame he’d made and given her, opening the jar and setting it aside with a small container of water and a piece of cloth inside to heat. Beau would most liekly need it.  


 

* * *

 

 

The monk had left right after they had reconvened at the inn, barely taking time to throw her backpack into the two other girls’ room before heading out with “things to do”. Yasha didn’t knew the exact details of what she was doing and was polite enough not to ask, but she could never help the pang of worry at the patchwork of bruises she’d be wearing without fail upon coming back. She didn’t want to keep Beau from going, and considering how understanding they were with her when she was called by her god on business, it would be hypocritical, but as much as Beau was ready to take a blow for anyone in he group, she wasn’t as resistant as Yasha herself and that made the barbarian worry more than she’d expect.

 

* * *

 

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and soon after a heavy sheet of rain descended upon Zadash, battering the window. Yasha took the bedroll off Beau's backpack, laying it down on the room’s floor, and sat there to watch it pour. The flashes of light and consequent rumble were comforting, like a presence at her side while Yasha could do nothing but wait for her companion to come back, ready to treat her wounds at least a little.

 

* * *

 

 

Time passed, time that Yasha didn’t truly notice, lost as she was in her wait and her fascination of the storm before her. She listened, and she waited, until finally she noticed a shadow clothed in blue with nigh-faded red spots walking home. Her clothes were drenched, she was slouching, and the aasimar was sure that she could see a slight limp in the human’s step. She would definitely catch a cold, sleeping on the floor with her hair drenched that much. She kept waiting, searching her own feelings, and almost not hearing Beau walk into the room. The quiet was comfortable nonetheless, and she allowed it to stay for a little longer before breaking it.

 

It was just them, and after a few words Yasha got up from her makeshift seat to assess the damage the monk had sustained. Bruises, sprains, slight cuts, nothing major but helping would do no harm. Quietly, Yasha retrieved the hot cloth from the water container and set to caring for the shorter woman. The visible relief that washed over Beau once she was in dry clothes and Yasha applied heat to the back of her neck and cold to her sprained shoulder were great signs.  


 

Not many words were exchanged, but Yasha had always been quiet anyway, and the little she said was enough to make it obvious that she truly cared. Beau and some of the others had learned to understand the silence surrounding the Xorhassian, like a second language between the group when it came to speaking with her.

 

She didn’t expect the closeness to feel nice. Didn’t expect the simple breath between them to be almost reassuring, like the flashes and rumbles that gave her peace.

 

The storm within Beau, that Yasha could feel as she stalked the streets and walked inside, or just everyday in her rough demeanor yet fierce affection for those she would call her friends, subsided for a calm and a vulnerability rarely witnessed. The monk would probably deny it and shrug it off with some biting words and agressivity should it be mentioned by anyone else, but she trusted Yasha not to say anything, and Yasha in turn was fully aware that she wouldn’t betray that sort of trust.

 

And, as the night kept going, Yasha asked Beau to stay. To sleep with her, so that she may keep her warm and comfortable and safe and _here._ In reality, though, she only asked her to share her own warmth by sleeping in the same bed, but Beau was better at reading between the lines than she often was given credit for, and accepted.

 

The two women laid there with their arms wrapped around each other, basking in the comfort of not being alone, of being inside and amongst loved ones, regardless of what the road or time could bring. Yasha was left to her own thoughts as Beau fell almost immediately into a deep sleep, exhausted from her session.

 

There, staring at the ceiling, the monk asleep with her head against her heart, Yasha almost believed that it might wake her up. She could feel it beat almost faster than the pitter-patter of the rain outside. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn't unwelcome. Much like Frumpkin's odd sound, that meant he liked her, the thumping of her own heart must mean that she likes Beau. She was almost sure that it was reciprocated.  


 

* * *

 

 

With a small smile she couldn’t stop from spreading on her lips, the barbarian closed her eyes and let the night take her, fearing neither dreams nor the silence as Beau’s warmth and comfort brought her to happy shores.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Find me at prongsandpens.tumblr.com if you want to say hello or send prompts! ^~^


End file.
